


👁w👁

by CorvusCanidae



Category: Original Work
Genre: Body Horror, Psychological Horror, Sleep Paralysis Demon Brittney Spears cinematic universe, semi-graphic description of gore (kinda??)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-27 05:31:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19784251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorvusCanidae/pseuds/CorvusCanidae
Summary: Don’t worry you’re not the only one wondering why the fuck this exists.





	👁w👁

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote the start of this in middle school as part of an ongoing joke in quest class (u kno who u r when I say u kno EXACTIY what this is) and found it while procrastinating on starting the Megaman fic I’ve been planning to write so I decided to spruce it up a bit and curse everyone here with the knowledge of it because if I must be burdened with it’s existence y’all will be too

You wake in the middle of the night to a prickling sensation of being watched. Your eyes fart around the room, taking in all the silhouettes distorted by the all-consuming darkness. At first, you start to relax—nothing seems to be out of place, after all—when It shifts. A mass of shadows in the furthest, darkest corner—the one you swear was the product of imagination and a coat rack (neither of which you have)—slowly unfurls, the pervasive squelching and popping of maladjusted joints and contorted flesh struggling to maintain some sembalance of structural integrity as the creature, impossibly tall and sickly thin, hunches over in a madman’s spiral across your bedroom. You are almost thankful that it remains so hard to see, especially since what few details you do manage to discern make you wish you hadn’t. Cracked and slippery-shiny red bones, limbs scattered in angles that shouldn’t be allowed to exist, exposed tendons and ligaments marred with haphazard clusters of waxy patches of rot and broken slivers of torn skin. The gaunt and impossible frame stretches outwards, inch by inch, the periodic contortions of Its visible spinal cord accompanied by gut-wrenching little ‘pop’s, as Its head gets closer and closer, slowing as Its fave hovers right above your own. Empty sockets on a broken, wholly skin-free, glistening, cow-like skull bore into you, not just looking but seeing you through the blankets and the shadows and the clutter; through the layers and the walls and the lies, It is looking at you and It is telling you. The entity leans in, the end of Its maw nearly pressed against your ear, and it cracks open Its jaw, all the way back, impossibly wide, tearing through the slimy, translucent layer of film you hadn’t noticed was sealing it, and it whispers with a voice that is not a voice so much as it is a primal sensation of a thousand beetles skittering about inside you in a messy, off-beat cacophony of intersecting staccatos, and It says but one thing to you with this voice that is not a voice, It gives but one warning before you shoot up in your now-empty bed in your always-empty room, once again free to move and to scream, three simple words that will haunt you for the rest of your days. 

“It’s Brittney, bitch.”

**Author's Note:**

> My dog, who weighs more than I do, sat directly on top of me no less than 3 times while I was working on this, and has been screaming for a hour.


End file.
